


Like Everyone Is Watching

by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Series: FullmoonFiclet Entries [103]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Claudia Stilinski Memories, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Modeling, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: Dance like no one's watching... that's how Stiles used to dance when he was young. Only, he did his dancing in front of a camera, something he's not thought about for years. Now he's moving out, and there's a box in the attic that brings back all the familiar memories... along with some unexpected ones.





	Like Everyone Is Watching

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aredblush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aredblush/gifts).



> Written for the [Full Moon Ficlet](http://fullmoonficlet.tumblr.com) challenge on tumblr - prompt #279: abandon
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://aredblush.tumblr.com/post/174641333867/derek-hale-d2-c2) doodle of Derek from [aredblush](http://aredblush.tumblr.com).

When Stiles was little, his mom chose to channel his energy into a variety of activities. Before they got a lock on how to deal with his abundance of energy, one of the things she signed him up for was modeling.

Since he had the habit of dancing with abandon the moment music was playing, he was the perfect model, and he didn't mind the clothes they put on him. He'd enjoyed all the fussing about him, the attention, and Claudia made sure that first and foremost, he had fun. The camera loved him, the photographers and designers found his movements a breath of fresh air that added variety to otherwise fairly simple photoshoots and layouts.

It stopped when she got sick since John didn't have the time to drive him places, nor kept track of the necessary contacts to keep the shoots lined up. On one of her good days towards the end, Claudia brought Stiles to one more photoshoot, only two towns away, the first and only one he did for clothes for preteens.

The memory comes flooding back when Stiles is clearing out the boxes stashed in their attic when he's about to move out, now that he's done with college. He knows what's in the box labeled "ModelBug", he just he hasn't looked inside it in years. He knows that his mom kept all the photos and all his contracts in there, along with some extra stuff from the shoots he did.

"Oh wow, that's a blast from the past," John says, grinning when Stiles drags the box down into the living room. "You thinking about signing on again?"

"Even if I did, these guys don't cater to people my age," Stiles tells him. "I'm a bit out of the target bracket."

"A bit." John snorts. "So what's with the trip down memory lane? Mom?"

"That, and I just wanted to see if I remembered something right," Stiles mumbles, lifting the lid from the box and peeking inside. "Remember the last shoot I did? When I was like, eight?"

"The one after you shot up in height so they stuck you with the teens?"

"Yeah," Stiles nods. "There was something... _ha!_ "

He pulls out a folder branded with the most recent date out of all of them and drops it on the coffee table.

"I don't even think any of these were published anywhere," he says, opening the folder slowly, eyes scanning the contract on top. "There's no printout or catalog."

"Maybe it was posted to us later? After..." John's voice drifts off, but Stiles doesn't need him to finish that thought.

After his mom got worse, neither of them looked at this box again. Nor did they pay attention to any offers that were sent to the house, her name always on the envelope. Stiles takes a beat to wonder if maybe the published photos made it to the house and got tossed away like so many other things that neither he nor his dad wanted to deal with for years after. He thinks they did, up until he spots a plain brown envelope that's obviously never been opened.

"Dad," he mumbles to himself, noticing the address on the paper, Stiles's own name printed in neat letters, c/o Claudia Stilinski.

The date stamp seems about right, and Stiles sticks his thumb under the flap, tugs on the paper until it splits neatly along one side. There's a small pile of photos and what looks like a catalog, obviously the one that the shoot was for. Stiles tugs the photos out first, smiling immediately at his own antics. He can't remember the music, but he _can_ remember dancing with absolute abandon. He remembers his mom laughing in the background when he did spin after spin, twisted and wiggled, grinning at her over his shoulder.

But then there's another photo, one that seems out of place, and Stiles assumes it's made it into the pile by mistake. Because it's not him in it, not even with someone else like a few of the group photos that he put aside, having no special memories associated with them.

Stiles's eyes widen when he starts to realize who's in the photo, the dark hair and thick eyebrows being quite distinguishing, especially since he knows them so well now.

Because he _is_ looking at Derek but from well over a decade ago, confirming the memory that he wasn’t completely sure about until now. It’s Derek from simpler times, before Stiles's mom got really ill, before the fire, before they were running for their lives on a daily basis. Though he figures Derek always had the latter, the threat to his life because of who he was ever-present.

It doesn't look like it at all in the image that Stiles is staring at — Derek in ripped jeans and a printed top, headphones over a head of artfully messy hair, a small smile on his face as he listens to whatever music that he's listening to. Stiles's lips curl up in response, the memory of watching Derek's shoot washing over him.

He was on his way out, his mom right by his side when they walked past the studio's open doors, and Stiles glanced in. He remembers his mom talking to someone just outside the door, and he recalls slipping inside quietly to not disturb the photographer or the model. Derek. Because it was apparently Derek Hale whom Stiles watched while his mom talked to who must have been Talia Hale, Derek's mother. He wonders if Derek remembers it too.

 _Probably not_ , Stiles thinks.

After all, it has been years, and they never officially met that day. But Stiles now understands why he recognized Derek so easily that time in Mexico, when by all rights he shouldn't have known Derek when he'd been that young. Or at least he thought he shouldn’t have.

Clearly, he was wrong. Because they met all those years ago, and Stiles has somehow forgotten.

He picks up all the photos, and stashes them back in the envelope, then sets it aside, ignoring his dad’s pointed and knowing look. He finishes digging through the rest of the box, and brings it upstairs again, tucking it back in the corner he found it in. When he's gathered all the things that he wants to bring along, and packed them into his — shockingly still functional — Jeep, he goes back for the envelope, the memory tugging at his mind as stubbornly as any other unresolved mystery. 

On the drive to his new place, he keeps glancing at the passenger seat, remembering all the details of what he saw that day. 

He remembers Derek nodding his head to the music playing through the headphones, remembers the soft smile when he spotted Stiles watching. There's a flash of a more than familiar frown when the photographer barked out orders about Derek's pose, and then more memories of the carefree smile. 

The very same smile that greets Stiles when he pulls up at the apartment building he's moving into, across town from his dad's house. Derek barely says hello before he goes straight to the back of the Jeep and starts pulling out boxes to carry upstairs. 

"Showoff," Stiles mutters fondly when he sees Derek grab two of the heavy boxes and hold them like they weigh nothing. 

Thanks to Derek's ability to do more than a regular human would, they have all the boxes up in Stiles's new place, and Stiles makes the executive decision that unpacking is going to wait. Instead, he makes one more trip downstairs, grabs the envelope from his Jeep, and heads back up, thinking about the best way to start that particular conversation.  

He still doesn't know what to say when he sits down on the lone sofa in the otherwise empty room. 

"What's that?" Derek asks, pointing at the envelope when Stiles sets it down beside him, taking the decision about the conversation out of Stiles's hands. 

"Oh, it's..." Stiles pauses, then grabs the envelope and opens the flap. "Let me just show you." 

He tugs out the photos, and hands them over, not bothering to find the one of Derek that found its way in. Derek looks at each of them, his smile varying from fond to amused, and Stiles knows exactly when he's reached the one of himself because his eyes go almost comically wide.

"Oh wow," Derek says, sounding astounded. "I forgot about this." 

"Yeah, me too," Stiles nods. "That was the last shoot I did, before Mom..." 

His voice trails off, and he looks at the floor, only feeling Derek's warmth when he sits down on the sofa, pressing against Stiles's side. For a few beats, neither of them speaks, then Derek lets out a short chuckle. 

"I didn't even know that was you that day," he says, and Stiles looks up. "I just thought you were some random kid who got lost." 

"Thanks," Stiles deadpans, but his lips curl into a faint smile. 

"Did you know?" 

"Yeah, I mean. My mom was outside the studio, talking to your mom."

"Why did you never say anything?" Derek asks, but it's only with confusion and curiosity, not anger. 

Stiles thinks about it. Truth is, he's pretty sure he repressed that memory entirely, along with a lot of others, and he tells Derek just that. He gets Derek's arm wrapped around his shoulders in response, and he leans into Derek's side, sighing. 

"You seemed to have fun doing that," he tells Derek, glancing at the photo again. 

"It was one of the things we could do without getting in trouble," Derek says. "We could do sports, but we had to be careful. This was... I didn't have to  _do_ much. And I heard the photographer without having to turn my music down," he adds; the chuckle that follows makes Stiles's head shake. 

"Mom brought me to these to get my energy out," Stiles says, then laughs too. "They just let me do anything, as long as I stayed in front of the camera." 

"That explains these." Derek points at one picture that is a little more blurry than the others. 

"Oh yeah, there were a lot more of those." Stiles snuggles more into Derek's side. 

"Would you do it again?" 

"What, modeling?" 

"Yeah." 

"No idea. I've been away too long. The contacts Mom kept might not work anymore."

"That's not what I meant," Derek says, his voice deeper. 

Stiles pulls away, then meets Derek's eyes. There's a glint in them, and Stiles grins. 

"Now  _that_ I can absolutely get on board with," he says, and gets up. "Come on, we do need to see if the mattress is up to standard."

Derek only stops to grab his phone from his jacket on the way to the bedroom. 

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://froggydarren.tumblr.com/) || [my sterek fic tumblr](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/)


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